These Three Remain
by Frodo'sPen
Summary: The necessity of hiring a new secretary puts Matt Murdock in a precarious position, but she has secrets of her own.
1. Don't Trust Him

Chapter 1: Don't Trust Him

The sign on the door warranted a pause. A tacky black paint against the fissured glass, the middle had been rubbed out, and not by a very skilled hand. "Law Offices of _ Murdock." The chipped remains of the missing letters felt ominous in their disregard for aesthetics or formality.

Still, she knocked, and at a soft sound from within she entered.

The inside was as decrepit as the sign. Barren of anything that might have been considered décor and white-walled, its sole features were the rickety table and chairs in the center of the room, a number of scattered boxes and papers, and the man standing amidst it all, back to her, hands on his hips.

Slim, but solid, hips, she noted.

"Hello?" she said tentatively.

The man turned, and she noted the fine figure ended in a pair of dark, red-tinted glasses and a boyish haircut. As if in contrast, the jaw beneath the glasses was severe.

"Hello," he said politely. "How can I help you?"

"My name is Gloria Dunham," she said. "I'm here about the secretary position." She started to hold up the newspaper carrying the ad, then stopped herself as she realized this was as futile as reaching for his hand.

"The secretary position."

"Yes, your ad states you're…" she surveyed the room again, "looking for some help."

He chuckled. "That's one way of putting it." He held out his hand, and she shook it, feeling a little better for the contact. "Matthew Murdock. Have you done this kind of work before, Ms. Dunham?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"What made you want to apply?"

Another quick glance. Half a second. Enough to confirm brutally honest was the best approach. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find work in a new city in January?"

He smiled, honestly, though there was still something dim about it. "I can imagine." He turned towards the office to her left. "Job's yours, if you still want it."

"What? Just like that? –Oof." Turning to follow, her shin connected with one of the larger boxes. "You don't want to know anything else?"

He moved above his desk in careful strokes, arranging one or two things. "You're been honest, Ms. Dunham, so I will be too. No one else showed up."

DD***DD

She had come to New York at the suggestion of a friend. A friend who thought a change from the demanding pace of her life might be good for her. New York City might not have been the ideal place to slow down for most people, but in her case it turned out to be the perfect arrangement. Not knowing anyone meant fewer demands on her free time, and Murdock's clients were so few and far between, her working hours were rarely anything but quiet.

No clients might seem like there wouldn't be much to do, but the Law Office of Murdock's biggest problem – or at least its most obvious – was its disorganization. She spent several weeks just going through everything, sorting and organizing, then even more time digitizing. Handwritten notes and paper files weren't much use to a blind man.

She found, to her surprise, that her friend had been right, and the simple goal of putting things to rights lifted her spirits in a way she'd have been hard-pressed to explain.

The other office, the one Murdock never went into, became a library. She dragged the filing drawers in there, stacked the shelves with law books, backed the old desk against the wall. It was less of a presence that way, she felt.

She spoke to her landlord, who knew a guy, about the sign, and two weeks later had replaced both the outside plaque and the lettering on the door for a small fee that she worked into the accounts in such a way that Mr. Murdock wouldn't take too much notice. Then again, he seemed to notice very little.

It was in the middle of the digitizing project that she met the absent partner.

He came in without a knock and with a frown and stopped at the sight of her.

"Can I help you?" she asked, rising.

"Franklin Nelson, former partner," he said, coming forward to shake her hand.

"Gloria Dunham, new secretary."

Something about his smile was uncomfortable, but it didn't slow him down. "Jeans. Bold move."

Murdock appeared in his office door, frowning. "You're wearing jeans?"

"You have no clients," she reminded him.

"Love what you're done with the place," Nelson remarked. "It was never this clean when I was here."

"Foggy."

"Right. It was lovely to meet you, Miss…is it Miss?"

She nodded.

"As I said, lovely to meet you, Miss Dunham." He followed Murdock into the office, leaving her to wonder about, among other things, the previous secretary.

DD***DD

The atmosphere had noticeably thickened by the time Mr. Nelson left. His farewell nod to her was what she suspected was uncharacteristically curt. And her boss lingered outside his office longer than was his wont.

"Can I get you some coffee, Mr. Murdock?"

"What? No – uh, thank you. I think I'm going to head home. I'll finish up there tonight."

She didn't ask, finish up what?

"You can close up, if you like."

"I don't exactly have anywhere else to be."

"Yeah, but it's a cold night, and I can't afford to keep the heat on." His lips twisted up at the edges.

She smiled back, though it wasn't any more sincere, and she couldn't imagine why, as he couldn't see it. "I'll lock up."

DD***DD

She was only about ten minutes behind him, but it was clear from Mr. Nelson's continued presence in the street that they hadn't run into each other. Or perhaps they had, and Mr. Nelson had simply chosen not to acknowledge it. But then, why linger?

He regarded her after a couple of blinks. "Matt still up there?"

"I'm afraid not. Is there something I can help you with?"

"No, I'm just being…" He sighed, then glowered up at her. "I've made a few mistakes. Sometimes not speaking up was the worst of them. I like to think I don't make the same mistakes twice, so at the risk of a very unlawyer-like breach of confidentiality, don't trust him. You wouldn't be the first person he's hurt. I know I've only known you about an hour, but I think it's safe to say you don't deserve that."

She waited until she was sure he had said all he needed to say. "Mr. Nelson, if you're implying that there's some sort of inappropriate or unprofessional relationship between Mr. Murdock and myself, rest assured, there is not. He is a very attractive-"

"Believe me, I'm well aware of that."

"-man, I grant you, but so are many other men in New York. To be perfectly clear, he hardly even speaks to me."

Nelson was quiet for a time. "Maybe he's learned his lesson then."

"Maybe it's the jeans."

He laughed, through his nose, but it reached his eyes. "Maybe. Can I walk you somewhere?"

"I'm going home, which is conveniently above a bar."

"May I compliment you on your excellent taste in accommodations?"

"Thank you. I'll even buy you a drink if you'll answer a question for me."

"I'll have to hear it first."

"Spoken like a good attorney." They were moving, and she felt a little of the loneliness she hadn't know was there lift from her shoulders. "The previous secretary?"

"Ah, Karen…What you're thinking. Though in Matt's defense, maybe not entirely his fault, and not for any reasons you're thinking."

"Interesting."

"Let's just say, some of us prefer simple lies to complicated truths."

"Some of us, including you?"

"If I'm honest, which I'm not liking so much right now."

"Fair enough. No more questions for today."  
"Finally, someone in my life who's _not_ pushy."

"You're just getting to know me, Mr. Nelson."


	2. The Ever-Present Shadow

Chapter 2: The Ever-Present Shadow

She met the woman herself a few weeks later. Karen Page was tall, blonde, pretty in a small town way that somehow blended effortlessly with the crisp clothing she wore.

She stopped, just inside the door, having let herself in, and stared. Before any kind of interchange was strictly necessary, Mr. Murdock appeared, and Miss Page was escorted into his office, where despite both of their low tones, the harshness of their argument leaked out.

When Miss Page had left, Mr. Murdock told his new secretary to lock the main door and come into his office.

"Have a seat, Miss Dunham," he said, slipping behind his own desk gracefully. "There are some things I need to go over with you."

She had a pad and paper ready, but she had a feeling whatever he was about to say, she'd remember without help.

"About a year and a half ago, when Foggy and I were still partners and Karen was still working here, we handled a case involving a business giant and mock-philanthropist, Wilson Fisk."

"As I recall, he had his fingers in both the drug and sex trades, along with most of the cops in this precinct. He blew up several blocks here in Hell's Kitchen and had God knows what else planned before they finally arrested him."

Murdock's chin tilted to the side.

"I've been digitizing most of your records, Mr. Murdock. I get a lot of reading in. And I'm a quick study."

He smiled. "You'll have to forgive me for underestimating you. You're so quiet, compared to Foggy or Karen, I sometimes forget you're here."

"I'm not sure if I should be offended or say 'you're welcome.'"

He chuckled. "Let's go with the latter. I haven't had a lot of peace and quiet in my life. It's nice."

She nodded to herself. "I take it something new has come up with this case?"

"They're having another hearing. For early parole."

Her eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "It's been a year and a half. Isn't that…?"

"Unbelievable, yes, but they're doing it. Karen is preparing a piece, interviewing Fisk's victims. She thinks it will help. She's asked that I pull any names from our files and send them to her."

"Shouldn't be too hard to find. I think all of that is in the computer at this point…Will you need anything as well?"

"We won't be handling this case, if that's what you're asking. The DA can handle it from here. But I will want to be there, and I expect you to be there as well."

"Of course, Mr. Murdock."

"It might also help for us to go over everything one more time, just so we're prepared."

"Yes, Mr. Murdock."

"Karen is also interviewing any of the cops on Fisk's payroll that are currently serving out their sentences. If you could pull that information as well. Everything needs to go to this email address." He slipped a card her way. A simple card, she noted. Nothing fancy; to the point. Only two different fonts. "And I would like to see a copy as well."

His jaw was tight, she noted.

"She'll have to visit them in prison for that."

"Yes." His voice had lowered.

She nodded again. "Mr. Murdock…"

"Yes, Miss Dunham?"

"What about the other man…the, uh, Daredevil?"

"What about him?"

"The evidence he turned in was largely responsible for Fisk's conviction, and it seems he had a hand in bringing in Fisk as well…Will you want anything we have on him pulled as well?"

Murdock was quiet for a long moment. "No, I don't think so. Let's just stick to the facts on this one, Miss Dunham. Daredevil is still too much of a mystery to be reliable testimony."

"Very good, Mr. Murdock. Is there anything else?"

"That'll be all, Miss Dunham. Thank you."


	3. I Have a Place

Chapter 3: I Have a Place

The call came at the beginning of March. A snowstorm had hit, and she was planning out her route home sans cab and trying to decide how to persuade Murdock to leave as well.

The officer who called was named Brett Mahoney, and when she had hung up she entered Murdock's office, wondering how she was supposed to do this.

Faster's better, whispered a voice from her past. Kind, but to the point.

She knocked on the doorframe.

"Yes, Miss Dunham?"

"You haven't been answering your cell phone."

It slipped out, and she wondered that she so badly wanted not to be the one to give him this news, that she had forgotten herself for a moment.

He frowned. "Battery's dead. I think."

She took a deep breath. "I just received a call from a Detective Mahoney. I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock. It's about Miss Page. They found her body by the docks."

For a long time, he was quiet. She knew that quiet, like being in a vacuum. The world rushed by your ears like wind, loud, but hardly noticeable, because after that moment what you wanted most was not to have senses, and for a split second that somehow in your disconnected sense of space-time you made longer, you got your wish, and what had just been told to you was unreal.

But then your body took over, and you breathed again, somewhat involuntarily, and your chest began to hurt.

"How?" he whispered.

"Detective Mahoney asked that I have you call him for the details. He's at the station now. If you like, I'll take you down there."

"Thank you, Miss Dunham, but I'll take a cab. Why don't you close up for the night? Be careful. I can't see the snow, but I can hear the wind, and I know it's rough out there."

Not so much easier in here, she thought, closing the office door.

DD***DD

The funeral was a Protestant affair: simple and cold. It included an odd amalgamation of lawyers, reporters, cops, immigrants, and a delegation clearly not from anywhere in the city. Mr. Murdock had explained to her that Miss Page was originally from Vermont, and she guessed this must be the woman's family.

She had come in support of Mr. Murdock, who in spite of their shared grief was now on strict non-speaking terms with Foggy. The latter seemed to blame him in some way for Miss Page's death, and Mr. Murdock did not seem to dispute the issue.

As they stood there listening to the reverend, she felt a little overwhelmed by the curiosity of it all. Many of the people present, by the very nature of their lifestyles or occupations, would never be voluntarily social with each other. Yet here they were, all come together of their own free will. Who _was_ this woman? _What_ was she, that she commanded such loyalty, even in death, from such disconnected people? Or, for some of them, was it she that had caused the rift?

Foggy met them at the cemetery gates and hugged her. Murdock he regarded coldly.

"She deserved better," he said simply.

"I know," Murdock whispered.

"And if it hadn't been for you-" With a sigh, and a movement of his hands that indicated he was done with the whole affair, Foggy walked away.

She moved closer and slipped her arm through Mr. Murdock's.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"I'm afraid I'm poor company just now, Miss Dunham."

"You're always poor company, Mr. Murdock."

He laughed, very softly, but it was a small victory, and she would take it. "I suppose that's true. Anywhere but Josie's."

"Come on. I have a place."

DD***DD

The Den of Lost Souls, or Murry's, as most people knew it, was small, clean, and warm. Murry used real kerosene lanterns when he could afford it, which was only at Christmas, and even then he really couldn't; he just told himself it was worth the extra balance on his credit card. He boasted a simple menu of standard pub fair, but his cook liked to experiment, so he had told him he could rotate a different dish through every season or so. This winter it had been a curry of some sort, but it was as comforting as everything else about the place, and she was going to be sorry to see it go.

She parked them both at the bar, helping Mr. Murdock into his seat before leaning over the counter to fetch two rocks glasses and a bottle.

"What do you drink?" she asked her boss.

"Macallan's. Neat, please."

She retrieved the second bottle, waving to Ashish, the cook, who was shaking his head at her from the kitchen.

When they were both properly served, she raised her glass. "To Miss Page," she said simply.

"To Karen," said Mr. Murdock.

They drained their glasses, and as she refilled, he asked, "What are you drinking, Miss Dunham?"

"Jameson." She smiled as she passed him his glass.

"Gloria!" a sharp yet guttural voice called, and Murry appeared behind the bar. "Stealing my whiskey again?"

"Four drinks, Murry. I'm keeping track."

"Uh huh. And who is this handsome young man? You know you're the first one she's actually brought back here. I was beginning to think she was ashamed of me."

"We're all ashamed of you, Murry!" Ashish called from the kitchen.

She waving a hand as Murdock was smiling. "This is my boss, Murry."

Murry frowned. "Well, then."

"And I didn't bring him here to meet you. We just came from a funeral."

Murry took in their attire, meeting her gaze as he finished. She nodded in Murdock's direction. "I'm sorry for your loss, young man. Drinks are on the house." He picked up the bottle, frowning over it. "Especially for someone of such excellent taste."

"What would you know about taste, Murry?" called Ashish. "You still drink potcheen!"

Murdock was laughing as Murry ran back to harass his cook. "Potcheen? You can get that stuff here?"

She swallowed her whiskey. "I'm pretty sure he makes it in his bathtub."

"How did you find this place?"

"I live upstairs."

Murdock's eyebrows raised, and she twitched. "I just realized how that sounded. Sorry, I didn't mean…I honestly don't know anywhere else."

"You come to the office, then you come here."

"Basically."

"Miss Dunham, why did you move to New York?"

She stared at her glass a long moment, then turned to meet the eyes that weren't looking at her. Murdock had left his glasses on, even in the dim pub, but she nevertheless felt he was studying her.

"I lost…someone important to me," she said. "When it was over, a friend suggested I needed a change. Turns out he was right." She swallowed the rest of her glass, then reached for the bottle.

"I'm sorry," Murdock said after a moment.

"Thank you," she replied, "but I-"

"I almost forgot," Murry said, appearing again from the back. He was fiddling with something in his shirt pocket. "That guy came in and left this for you." He slipped a folded piece of paper in front of her.

"What guy?" she took the paper tentatively, unfolded it, suddenly grateful that her companion couldn't see.

"You know, the guy. Baseball cap. Nice manners. In all the excitement over this one it slipped my mind." Murry jerked his thumb towards Murdock.

"Murry…"

"You know," he said, ignoring her tone and leaning over the counter towards the lawyer, "I don't care if you are her boss. If this letter-writer turns out to be full of steam, take her out for a real dinner. She spends too much time around me."

"I'll take you out, Gloria!" Ashish called.

"No, thank you, Ashish!" she called back. "Murry, drop it. Or I'll move out, and you'll have to find a tenant desperate enough to pay your prices for this temple of rusty nails."

"Playing hard ball. I like it." He tapped Murdock's arm. "What'd I tell ya? She's a keeper."

Murdock had been smiling throughout it all, and she found she was glad of the sight. If he was smiling, he wasn't brooding. "No doubt, Murry," he answered.

Murry shuffled to the other end of the bar, satisfied, and she finished skimming her letter.

"What kind of person writes handwritten notes these days?" Murdock asked.

"The old-fashioned kind, apparently. More?" She held up the bottle of Macallan's.

"Yes, please. And Gloria?"

"M-hm?"

"Thank you."


	4. Down the Rabbit Hole

Chapter 4: Down the Rabbit Hole

It took Foggy two days to recover from the funeral enough to storm into the Law Office of Matthew Murdock. He set a stack of files on the secretary's desk with more force than was strictly necessary, then asked thickly.

"Will you get him? I'm not doing it."

She was rising from her chair when Murdock appeared. "How can we help you, Foggy?"

"In case you've forgotten, we have a case coming up," Foggy told him. "We may not be handling it ourselves, but I'd rather go in prepared."

"I haven't forgotten. Is that all?"

"No." Foggy pulled over a chair and sat down sat down. "I'll bet anything that son of a bitch had something to do with what happened to Karen, and I'm here to make sure he stays locked up where he belongs."

"I agree," Murdock pulled another chair over. "And I'm in. Gloria." He turned to his secretary. "I don't have to tell you anything said here is strictly confidential."

She raised an eyebrow. "I did read the employment contract, Mr. Murdock. Confidential is my middle name."

"Gloria…you two on half a first name basis now?" Foggy asked. "When did that happen?"

"After the funeral, about three glasses in," she answered.

"And with that established, you are allowed to call me 'Matt,' Miss Dunham," said Murdock.

"I'll make a note."

"Moving on from that lovely exchange of pleasantries…" Foggy dragged the first file towards himself.

"Actually, I have a few questions, if that's alright."

"Fire away, Gloria," said Foggy.

"You said you believe Fisk is somehow connected to Miss Page's death…"

"'Responsible' is probably the correct term." Foggy looked at Matt.

"We don't have any evidence to support that, Foggy," Matt said reasonably.

"Screw evidence. You haven't always needed it before. My gut tells me it's him."

It was an odd interchange: Foggy, whom she would have considered the more by-the-book, and Murdock, or Matt, who she somehow suspected the more likely to make sudden leaps in judgement.

"Still need catching up," she interjected.

"Karen was involved in one of the initial cases that led to Fisk's arrest," Matt explained. "She blew the lid off one of his operations."

"And she's close to…us," added Foggy, with a sidelong glance at his former partner. "My money's on revenge."

"He's in prison," she pointed out.

"It wouldn't be the first time he's paid someone to do his dirty work for him," said Foggy.

"If that's the line of thinking, a little deductive reasoning would suggest one of you might be next," she suggested.

"We'll be fine," Foggy reassured her.

"But it's worth keeping in mind," Matt said. "Maybe you should find a way to make yourself scarce for a while."

"And leave the blind man to fight off the minions?"

"I'll be fine."

"So will I."

"Gentlemen."

They both turned to look at her.

"If I've learned anything in the last couple of months, it's that neither of you are going anywhere. Can we move on?"

With a sigh, Foggy opened the first file. "You know, you might want to consider putting _her_ under wraps for a while, just in case Fisk gets any ideas."

"Don't worry, Mr. Nelson, I'm quite safe," she answered. "And despite this rather lengthy discussion, I still know next to nothing about this case, so I can't give any of your secrets away."

DD***DD

She had spoken too soon. She knew this when she was less than two blocks from the office. She knew it by the prickle along her spine, the sudden spike in her hair.

And, because that had been the plan all along, she wasn't prepared.

It had always been a skill of hers: know where the threat was coming from. Usually this meant avoiding the threat altogether, but she was past the point where that was an option now, and there was little to do except put her back to the wall and put her faith in Irish luck and a good old-fashioned knack for survival.

Another of her skills.

She kept moving. She moved because, despite the tremor in her limbs, she wanted to draw it out. But her hand slipped into her purse, searching for the jackknife she didn't want her boss knowing she carried.

It happened like a dance everyone knew the steps to but her. One-two-three. A shadow moved, off to her left, just on the inside of an alley. She hitched a breath, then she was flying. Up, up, in the wind and the smog and then she was on a rooftop, catching her breath and taking in the retracting line and the red-clad man in front of her.

"Devil of Hell's Kitchen?" she asked when she could speak again.

"Someone was following you," he answered back. She'd been half-expecting, "I am Batman."

She glanced behind her. "Were they now." Looking back up at him, "Did my boss send you?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Why do you ask that?" He was imposing, standing before her, more so than she would have expected from the comic-esque sketches she'd seen in the papers. But nothing was more intimidating than his eyes. They seemed blank, somehow, covered as they were behind the lenses he wore. Yet they were intent, piercing. Something was clicking in the back of her brain, but she shoved it aside for later.

She pointed behind her. "I'm not far from work, and, from what I heard tonight, you have a history of similar interests. Either you're keeping an eye on him, or he asked you to keep an eye on me."

The Devil before her smirked. "Would it bother you if he had?"

She considered this. "I don't think so. But if he asks, tell him I said he was out of line."

He gestured to the far end of the roof. "Fire escape is that way. It'll put you on a well-lit street with regular cab traffic. Be careful, Miss Dunham."

"Thank you, Mr. Devil."

He was gone before she got the sentence out, and she wasn't quite surprised. She followed his instructions to the letter, thinking that if cab rides got too expensive before the end of this trial, she could always charge them to the office. She doubted Matt would fight her on it.

It wasn't that far to Murry's, and her home. She slipped into the dark of the living room, locked the door behind her, and paused, listening. When she was sure it was safe, she turned to address the figure in the shadows.

"I appreciate the concern, but you're pushing it. He's going to catch on if you keep following me."


	5. And Into the Fire

Chapter 5: And Into the Fire

She rubbed at her eyes with both hands. "I still don't understand this."

"What's not to understand?" Foggy asked. "Rich guy goes crazy. Rich guy _was_ crazy. Rich guys blows up half of Hell's Kitchen. Handsome lawyers discover rich guy's devious plot, and rich guy goes to jail."

She dropped her hands. "Leaving out the fact that _you_ are now rich-"

He grinned. "And my mom wanted me to be a butcher. A _butcher_." He looked at Matt. "Can you believe that crap?"

Matt's smile was soft and steady, something she'd been noticing was a more frequent occurrence over the past few weeks. Foggy's humor came easier, as if even the full weight of his grief couldn't hold it back forever, and on the heels of his humor, Matt's smile rode.

It was a point in favor of the light, she thought, even though the evening shadows had long been gathered around the office.

"Okay, but in all seriousness, _why_?"

"Why'd she want me to be a butcher?"

"No, why blow up the city? What was the point? What did he stand to gain? And if he didn't, who did?"

Matt's smile had faded. "Maybe someone he was working with."

"The Yakuza?" Foggy offered.

"That's what I'm thinking. We know Fisk spent some time in Asia…"

"Doing what?"

"I don't know. But it's a place to start."

"Not to poop on this party," Foggy said, looking at his watch, "but it's not. Trial starts tomorrow. It's nine o'clock, and some of us need our beauty sleep before appearing in court."

Matt nodded reluctantly. "I know it's not our case, but…"

"I get it, but we're not going to help Karen on no sleep. This hearing could go on for days. Let's see what we can find out tomorrow night. We'll feed it to Tower if we need to. Gloria, you want to share a cab home?"

"Thanks, but I'm going to clean up around here first. See you in the morning, Foggy."

"See you in the morning. Matt." Foggy nodded to his former partner as he walked out, and she almost breathed a sigh of relief as the tension slipped out the door after him.

Matt cleared up the remains of the Thai dinner they had all split, while she got their papers in order. Her mind was still reeling from the Yakuza, from Fisk, and from the nagging feeling that they were missing something big in all of this. She wondered…

Matt reached across her for the abandoned wine bottle, and as he did his arm brushed her own. She jerked at the contact, and the bottle crashed to the floor.

"Sorry," she muttered, face suddenly hot. "I wasn't paying attention." And now there was glass, and, surprisingly, leftover wine, all over the office.

"It's alright," he said with a chuckle. "I don't know that we have a broom."

"Mm. We have a broom," she said, moving to get it.

"Since when?"

"Uh, since I bought it."

She returned, swept up the mess. Matt was now sitting on the edge of her desk, and she found the fact that he hadn't moved disconcerting, as if, by sitting on her desk, he was somehow in _her_ space. They were in his office, but she somehow felt she wanted him behind his own desk.

She had to move close to him to get her purse, which was now on the chair Foggy had abandoned, and fetching it brought them close enough for the hairs on her arm to rise. No doubt sensing her response, Matt moved closer, and she shivered, ever so slightly. They'd been close before. One didn't work in a small office with a blind man without occasionally making physical contact. Matt was unusually graceful, would have been even for someone with use of all his senses, yet there were places he still needed guidance.

It struck her, all of a sudden, that with Foggy on thin ice at best, she was the only person around to provide that guidance. The thought nearly broke her heart.

And perhaps Murdock sensed that too. He was very close, and his lips were millimeters from her own…

And she remembered herself and, slipping her hand around the handles of her purse, stepped back and away.

"Will there be anything else, Mr. Murdock?"

He looked startled, and his voice, when he answered, was rough. "No, Gloria, thank you."

Without another word, she left him standing there, and she didn't feel she breathed again until she was in the street.

DD***DD

She was almost the first person in the office the next morning.

"You still have a key?" she asked Foggy.

"Matt never asked for it back," he said, holding up his hands.

"I suppose it's not a terrible idea that someone else can get into this place," she mused, feeling the tension of the day ahead and the night before and hoping Foggy couldn't hear her voice shake. "With everything going on, if something should happen to us and…" She stopped. They weren't going down that road.

"Are you okay?" Foggy asked, frowning. "I know this is all a little scary, but trust me, Matt will keep you safe."

It was a statement that was entirely without merit, but he said it with such conviction she couldn't think to contradict him. In any case, Murdock chose that moment to arrive.

"And now that we're all assembled," Foggy said, "can we get this over with? I just want this day to be done and Fisk back in jail for good."

"You know it's probably not going to be that simple," Matt said.

"Yes, but I can live in my bubble for the cab ride at least."

"Speaking of which, would you mind hailing one for us all? Gloria and I need a minute."

Foggy glanced between the two of them. "Sure. Not like I haven't been in this situation before." He left shaking his head.

She leaned back against the desk, ironically choosing the same position Matt had held the night before. He moved so that he was standing in front of her, hands on his hips, but he maintained a distance of a good two feet.

"Miss Dunham, I owe you an apology."

She started to shake her head.

"No, I mean it. I was out of line. My actions were inappropriate, and I'm sorry. I'd had enough wine that I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to…take advantage of our situation. As your boss, it was a complete abuse of our respective positions. This job…even this city…can be very taxing, and sometimes I get…"

"Lonely?" she offered.

He smiled. "I was going to say 'impulsive,' but yes."

"It's alright, I get it." She stood. "And for the record, I apologize too. I didn't mean to leave the way I did. It wasn't entirely because of you."

He waited.

"There are things you don't know about me, things that would make anything that happened between us…uneven. I don't think it would be fair to pursue something under those circumstances."

"I appreciate your honesty, Gloria," he said, bending to pick up his briefcase and cane, "though I think you're being a little hard on yourself. " He held the door, now half out. "After all, we all have our secrets."

She smiled, glad it was over…And then the last piece of the puzzle slid into place, and she looked up, startled.

Murdock was already gone.

DD***DD

Foggy seemed to think it was his responsibility to keep the awkward silence at bay. She wished he would stop. It was hard to think with the weight of his words, hard to process this morning's revelation. Hard to wrap her mind around all that it meant.

It would have to wait. They were at the courthouse. They were thoroughly examined by security as they went in, and they filed into their seats under all the imposing mahogany of the Manhattan courthouse. Two rows ahead of them, District Attorney Tower was about to lead the charge for the prosecution, and to their right…

Wilson Fisk. He was clad in the generic orange of an inmate, yet he might as well have been wearing Armani, he carried himself so well. His lawyer, by contrast, could have stepped out of 70's courtroom drama. She knew better than to let his appearance disorient her.

"All rise."

They stood, and the judge appeared. A severe woman, but her eyes were steady. That was a good sign.

A few opening comments from the judge and bailiff, and they were once again seated.

Fisk's lawyer rose to his feet. "Your Honor, at this time, I'd like to move for a mistrial."

A general gasp rang throughout the assembly.

Two sharp rings of the gavel. "On what grounds, Mr. Donovan?"

"On the grounds that the evidence used to convict my client was obtained through the corrupt and illegal practice of vigilantism, Your Honor."

"Considering the crimes your client has been convicted of, Mr. Donovan, I wonder that you think you have a leg to stand on. Furthermore, this court is already aware of Daredevil's involvement."

"'Involvement' is putting it lightly, You Honor." Mr. Donovan moved out from behind his table, leaving Fisk to sit there, and it was suddenly very alarming how calm he was. "I understand this is highly irregular, but I would, at this time, like to beg the Court's permission to, in lieu of my opening statements, question several witnesses with the aim of supporting my claim."

"And what claim would that be, Mr. Donovan?"

The man turned, staring straight at them. "That not only did the then law firm of Nelson and Murdock obtain their information with the assistance of the known vigilante, but that Mr. Matthew Murdock is himself said vigilante."

It was hard, for a moment, to understand that the roar around her was the crowd, and did not exist solely in her ears. Beside her, Matt's frame had tightened, and beyond him, Foggy too was unnaturally still. Donovan was still staring at them, and the judge was banging her gavel repeatedly.

"Order! OR- _DER!_ "

When the din had settled, the judge turned again to Donovan. "You are correct in calling this 'irregular.' I think, given the circumstances, stronger language is called for. Furthermore, and my apologies to Mr. Murdock, are you aware that the man you are accusing is _blind_?"

"A ruse, Your Honor, and I believe we can prove it. I beg the Court's leniency in this matter, as I do my best to make my case in the shortest time possible."

The judge was quiet for a long moment. Then, "I'll allow it." She struck the gavel once. "Proceed, Counselor."

"Thank you, Your Honor. As I've said, this claim requires stringing together the testimony of several witnesses. At this time, the Defense would like to call Miss Gloria Dunham to the stand."

Her eyebrows seemed to shoot to her hairline, and Matt's hand was on her arm, his grip fierce. But there was no time to think – she had to chose, and quickly. She slipped her hand into her purse and, locating the object she sought instantly, almost fatefully so, she thought, slipped it into her pocket. Then she reached across to squeeze Matt's hand, hoping he would take it as reassurance.

The walk to the stand was a blur.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

"State your full name for the record."

"Erinn Gloria Dunham."

Donovan was in front of her. She wondered who else he had lined up. She wondered what they knew. But it didn't matter. This would never go any further than her, not if she could help it.

"And your place of employment, Miss Dunham?"

As she met his gaze, she couldn't stop the corner of her lip from quirking, ever so slightly.

"The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"And…" Mr. Donovan was turning to face the assembly, already forming his next question. He whirled back around. "I'm sorry?"

"Better known as S.H.I.E.L.D."


	6. The Hand I've Dealt Us

Chapter 6: The Hand I've Dealt Us

Matt leaned forward as Donovan struggled to compose himself. The judge's gavel was ringing repeatedly, but it could hardly be heard over the excited chattering of the crowd. Matt wondered about that crowd. He knew there were reporters there, though cameras hadn't been allowed in. Among the general commotion he could pick out the sound of pencils scratching. Regardless of how this played out, his face would be on the front page the next day.

Or maybe it would be Glor-Erinn's. Erinn Dunham. The woman in question was not looking his way, and he understood that this was on purpose.

The judge finally got the crowd to calm down, although Mr. Donovan had perhaps a harder time of it. He straightened his jacket, cleared his throat, and met Erinn's gaze.

"Miss Dunham-"

"It's Agent Dunham."

"Agent…"

"Or Dr. Dunham, if you prefer…"

"Doctor…"

"PhD, Psychology."

Despite the terrible position they were in, Matt found himself smiling. Clearly, Erinn wasn't going to let Donovan get his feet back. It was a tactic that, as a lawyer, he admired, and as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen…he found it disconcerting that he had also underestimated her.

"Dr. Dunham," Donovan made another attempt at composing himself. "I was under the impression that you were Mr. Murdock's secretary."

"Until a few moments ago, so was Mr. Murdock. Thanks for blowing my cover."

Laughter, and another ring of the judge's gavel.

"She's good," Foggy whispered beside him.

"Very," Matt admitted.

He could tell Foggy was looking at him. "Did you know?"

"No."

"I thought you could tell when people are lying!"

Matt ran over the past couple of months in his head. _I'm here about the secretary position…A friend suggested I needed a change…There are things you don't know about me, things that would make anything that happened between us…uneven._

"Maybe she didn't."

"Well, congratulations, you've met your match at secret-keeping."

Erinn was speaking directly to the judge now. "…you'll understand, Your Honor, that there may be questions I cannot, due to the nature of my position, answer at this time. My work here is classified, however, I believe I can shed a little light on this situation and save the court some time by addressing Mr. Donovan's concerns regarding Mr. Murdock."

"She knows," Matt said.

"What?" said Foggy.

"You may proceed, Mr. Donovan," the judge was saying.

"Agent Dunham, can you tell us what it is that you are here investigating?" Donovan asked. Matt could feel the tension in him, his entire body ready to pounce.

"The same thing you were, apparently," Erinn answered. "My mission was to find Daredevil."

"And you thought you could do this by posing as a secretary in Mr. Murdock's office?"

Erinn shifted a little in her seat, as if she were bored. "Correct. Like yourself and presumably Mr. Fisk, my superiors and I thought it a little too coincidental that Daredevil's targets so closely paralleled certain cases handled by the Law Firm of Nelson and Murdock. There had to be some connection. When both Mr. Nelson and Miss Page left the firm and the coincidences continued, it made sense that the connection lay with Mr. Murdock.

"However, it never occurred to us that Mr. Murdock _himself_ might be Daredevil. I have to give you credit for your imagination, Mr. Donovan. I've seen a lot of strange things over the past several years, but a blind vigilante would certainly top the list."

More tittering from the crowd. Another rap for order.

Donovan didn't look happy. "Was your investigation successful, Miss Donovan? Were you able to discover Daredevil's identity?"

"I was," Erinn confirmed, and there was a frantic whisper. This time, however, the judge didn't try to suppress it. If Matt had to guess, he would have said that she too was interested in Erinn's answer. "And no, I'm not going to tell you his name. That is one of the things I am not able to disclose at this time."

Matt barely controlled his sigh of relief. Beside him, he felt Foggy relax as well.

Donovan's voice, as it concluded his questioning, hovered between anger and defeat. Matt was suddenly glad he couldn't see Fisk's face.

Tower was rising now, smoothing his suit as he went. "I have one follow up question, Agent Dunham, if I may."

Erinn nodded to him. "Of course."

"If you know who Daredevil is, why haven't you arrested him?"

"I'm not here to arrest him," Erinn said flatly. "I'm here to recruit him."

"Excuse me?" said Tower.

"What?" said Foggy.

The crowd murmured, but hushed quickly, waiting for more.

Erinn took a deep breath. "We've been keeping a loose eye on Hell's Kitchen for some time. Controlling what Secretary Ross likes to call 'the vigilante problem' hasn't been a top priority, given other recent events, however, with the rise in vigilante population over the past few years, certain parties felt it was something we could no longer afford to ignore."

"The rise in vigilante population?" Tower asked, stunned.

"You didn't think it was just here, did you? I count four in New York alone, five if you want to add Frank Castle. And I'm using the term _vigilante_ loosely here, because what we're really talking about here are human beings with abilities and skills beyond the usual scope. I've got a guy in Tucson who can turn himself into a small tornado, a woman in Wisconsin who can saw through trees with her own hands, and just recently, we learned there's a man in Swaziland who can spit acid."

"I'm sorry… _Spit acid_?"

"Useful if you're fighting crime, perhaps. Not so much if you're trying to find a girlfriend."

Tower smiled. "Agent Dunham, you'll have to forgive us if this is a bit much to take in."

She nodded again. "I fully understand, Mr. Tower. The world is changing before our eyes, and at a pace most of us can't take. But what if it was you? What if you woke up one day, in your ordinary home, in your ordinary corner of the world that doesn't make the news much, and you suddenly found you could do things you couldn't the day before…Would you do them? Or would you wait for someone to give you permission?

"I personally think we need vigilantes, Mr. Tower. For every one of these men and women that decides they're going to embrace what's happened to them and make the world a better place, there are five more that don't care what they're leaving behind. Perhaps they're too bitter about what's happened to them, perhaps they've been told one too many times that they're a freak, or perhaps they just like hurting people.

"The Avengers…" Erinn sighed. "Well, you've heard about all that. But even if they were still a healthy operation, they would still be too few. What I am proposing is an...understanding. In exchange for some oversight, by which means we ensure vigilantism doesn't get out of hand, and perhaps becomes something other than vigilantism, these extraordinary individuals would have access to more resources. Should they need it, as I imagine even Daredevil sometimes must, they could call in backup. In turn, if the Avengers do not possess the numbers to handle any of the many 'larger' issues facing our world, they could call on Daredevil, or Luke Cage, or whomever. Perhaps by working together we really would be able defend this world from any threat, both from without or within."

"It's a noble idea, Agent Dunham," said Tower.

"Admittedly, some of the logistics need working out," she said dryly, "but the first step was to make contact."

"And have you made contact? Have you been able to present your offer to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen?"

For the most fleeting of seconds, Matt felt her eyes on his face.

"I have."

"And?"

"Such an arrangement would imply a great deal of vulnerability on Daredevil's part. I imagine it will take him some time to decide whether or not he trusts me."

DD***DD

They rode back to the office in silence. The trial had been adjourned until the following day, with, the judge had been clear, "no more tangents." Matt had accepted Erinn's arm as she guided them out, and the contact felt something like a white flag. She doubted any of them would get much sleep that night.

Foggy locked the door behind them and opened his mouth.

"Not yet," Erinn said, crossing to her desk. She fumbled in the lower left drawer, retrieved a small object. This she placed carefully in the center of her desk before activating it.

"There," she said. "If this place isn't bugged already, it probably is now. This will stop any prying ears."

Foggy leaned over to stare at it. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It's a Stark prototype."

"So," said Matt, who was not to be distracted by technobabble.

"So," said Erinn.

Foggy looked back and forth between them. "How about all cards on the table…and maybe some Scotch?" Silence. "I'm sorry, I don't really know how to lighten this mood."

Erinn opened her mouth, and her cell phone rang. Frowning, she retrieved it from her pocket and, with a sardonic glance at them both, answered.

"I take it you heard?"

 _Yeah, loudly and clearly._

She set the phone in the middle of the desk. "You're on speaker, Tony. Murdock and Nelson are both here."

 _I take it from that performance that Murdock actually_ is _Daredevil?_

She winced. "Does Ross know yet?"

 _Thunderbolt or Everett?_

She scrunched her entire face up.

"I take it neither is good?" Foggy asked.

 _Well, neither is great, but Everett still likes_ you _, Erinn, and he's smart enough to keep the Secretary occupied elsewhere for the time being._

"But he's not happy."

 _He's not happy._

Matt spread his hands on her desk and leaned over the phone. "So where does that leave us?"

 _Honestly, nowhere. Everett doesn't want to deal with the Yakuza, and about that…Erinn, you were right, there is some connection with Fisk._

Matt's eyebrows had shot to the ceiling. Erinn wilted a little under the look.

 _Basically he's leaving the cleanup to you folks for now._

"Which means if Fisk gets out, we're on our own."

Foggy was staring at her. Matt's thoughts were hidden behind his glasses, but she could feel…not his eyes, but his _awareness_ of her. Straightening a little, she reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

 _I won't let it come to that, Erinn. If Fisk gets out, I'll be there. Don't let him get out._

"That's not the plan. Tony, keep digging. I don't think we know the half of this yet. And let Everett help you. He may not seem like it…but he's smart, and he'll have your back."

 _Guess I'll take your word for that. Watch your back, Dunham._

She hung up with a swift flick of her finger.

"So that backup you were promising?" Foggy said.

She sighed, pulling up her chair. "It was an idea, not an official offer. As I said, we were still working out the details."

"Who's 'we?'" Matt asked, also sitting.

"Tony and me, mostly. Foggy, how 'bout that Scotch?"

When they were all seated, she looked up at them steadily. "Here's what I know. Fisk spent some time in Asia, a little in China, a little in South Korea, but mostly in Japan. What happened while he was there is a mystery. He was off the map for several months. I asked Tony to do some digging into that time. My gut tells me that Fisk's plan…whatever deal he had with the Yakuza was likely not to _his_ benefit. They have some sort of interest in New York. They've been moving more and more people into the city, almost like they're mustering. We don't know for what. I think that…whatever is it Fisk had planned for this place…wasn't really his plan at all. I think it was theirs. He just picked the location."

"For what? And why? Why here?"

Erinn could admire that Matt, despite the rest of it, was still focused on the mission, on the city, on the endgame. That a man without, as far as she could tell, an endgame of his own could still ask the right questions was impressive. She wished she had the right answers for him.

She shook her head.

"She just shook…Never mind. She already knows you already know," Foggy said. "This is weird. In fact, I don't which of you is more messed up."

Erinn looked at him. "Do you want my help or not? If you don't, I'll pack up and go."

"Why are you here?" Matt asked. "I mean really. Why don't you go back to your superiors, report what you've found, and let them handle this?"

"Because that could take months, and Fisk is on trial now," she said.

"What…what about me? What if I tell them?"

Erinn stood just enough that she could drag her chair as close to his as it would get. She looked him in the eye, or the lens. She reached out and gripped one of his hands.

"Listen to me very carefully, Mr. Murdock, because if you understand nothing else I've told you today, you need to understand this. Red tape aside, Secretary Ross has a plan for people like you. He believes you are a weapon. And weapons to Ross are nothing more than tools in _his_ hands. If you turn yourself in, he will lock you away in a box until he believes you're the best tool for the job. And while he makes up his mind about which job to use you for, while Tony and I try to go over his head and arrange for a fair trial, a fair arrangement, you will stay in that box, and Fisk and whoever else will have free run of this city."


	7. Not Lies, Never Lies

Chapter 7: Not Lies, Never Lies

She'd expected the visit, known there were things that couldn't be said in front of Foggy, or at least couldn't be said until they'd been properly thought through. Maybe that didn't know they needed to be said until later. She'd known he would come. What she hadn't expected was that he'd come to her front door.

Murry knocked on her door, grunted at her when she opened it, and left, revealing Matt Murdock. She stared at him quizzically for a moment, taking in that he wasn't wearing red, and then stepped aside to let him in.

Navigating each other was easier when they didn't have to pretend. He didn't have to wait for her to verbalize the invitation, and she didn't have to rush to clear her gun off the table, lest he gropingly stumble upon it.

He tilted his head slightly in its direction, and she remembered she'd profiled that he would have a moral compunction about killing. There were some lines even vigilantes wouldn't cross.

That she herself, in the course of her job, was willing to cross them, she hoped would not hinder the development of their relationship.

"Would you like a drink?" she said to his back, and did not wait for an acknowledgement before fetching glasses.

He sat on her couch, gingerly, but with more grace than he usually allowed himself to display, and she settled beside him, drawing her knees up and turning to face him fully.

"What do you want to know?" she asked.

He hesitated, and when he spoke, she had a feeling the question was not the one he'd intended on leading with.

"You told me you came here at the suggestion of a friend."

She took a sip of her whiskey. "I did not tell you that friend was Tony Stark."

"You said you'd lost someone."

It was her turn to hesitate. He would know if she was lying, but it wasn't a story she wanted to share. Nonetheless, "He was my patient. I…specialize, if you can call it that, in PTSD, but it would be more accurate to say I specialize in enhanced humans with PTSD."

"People like me," Matt said after a moment.

"People like you," she acknowledged. She took another sip of whiskey. "Not everyone…adapts as well as you to the changes in their body, in the way they see the world. It is possible, if one believes those changes are unnatural, to come to hate yourself for them, though they are entirely out of your control."

Matt's hands tightened around his glass. Erinn reached over and squeezed his wrist until he relaxed. As she sat back, she pondered the contact. It was not something she was used to, physical familiarity, yet with a blind man, regardless of his other abilities, it was unavoidable.

"This man," she continued, "could not come to terms with what had happened to him. Eventually, his resentment turned inward."

"He took his own life," Matt finished for her. She was grateful, and hid for a moment behind her glass, glad he couldn't see her expression. The pain was like a wave that welled up from within, and she had been unprepared for how to powerful it would be, though she understood, personally and professionally, that buried pain is often stronger than pain acknowledged.

A pressure around her own wrist, and she looked up to find that Matt had seized her in turn. "However much we try to help people, ultimately their decisions are their own," he said.

She nodded, acknowledging the wisdom in that, though the pain was still there.

"It was a true story then," he said.

"You're wondering how you didn't see I've been lying to you this whole time," Erinn said.

"The only thing I could think was that you haven't."

She cocked her head to the side. "I suppose not. Regardless, if you're worried I'm lying now, I'm not…though whether or not you believe that is up to you to decide."

"I think if you were trying to deceive me you'd have set a better trap than an offer of a single, professionally dubious woman's help and the threat of near exposure."

She laughed, brightly, and he laughed with her.

"It was not a good plan, I admit," she told him. "I came here with only Tony's backing. We knew we would need a better scheme in place before presenting it to anyone official, but we wanted to feel you out first. Then when Fisk tried to expose you – and I'd only just figured it out myself this morning – I couldn't think of any other way to save you than to expose myself."

"It worked," Matt admitted. "Though for how long…"

"I know," she said. "I may have given you more grief in the long run."

"But right now Fisk is our problem."

"Yes, though I still don't understand exactly what that problem is."

Matt thought about this for a moment. "Do you really think it matters, so long as we stop him?"

"If it is not only his endgame, but part of something larger, it matters a great deal."

"Then to discover what Fisk – or the Yakuza are up to…"

She nodded. "I've thought of that too. It may be better to let it play out."

Matt's hands tightened again. "And how many people will be hurt while we wait?"

Erinn set her glass down. "I have a theory. A theory that, in this at least, Murdock and Daredevil may need to remain separate. Daredevil does not need to let any of the things that may harm his city, or the people in it, go unchecked. But Murdock may need to reign in his personal vendetta, and watch the enemy, instead of attacking him."

"That's a fine line you propose," said Matt softly.

"For you, it was always a fine line, wasn't it?"


End file.
